


Yeah? Yeah

by hotguyproblems



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Zayn, Fluff, Kissing, Language, Liam POV, Louis and Eleanor are only mentioned, M/M, Oneshot, PWP, Porn, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Liam, Ziam - Freeform, Ziam - Oneshot, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotguyproblems/pseuds/hotguyproblems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the most anticipating part of the interview, one I had thought about how to answer over and over and over.</p><p>“Now Liam, there’s been a lot of speculation over the where’s and how’s. I know there are a lot of people eager to hear the details. So perhaps you could clear the air...</p><p>Ziam - Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yeah? Yeah

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback storytelling.  
> This is my first story so please forgive my inexperience.  
> Give it a read though at least.  
> Please?

We were sat in adjacent chairs. Uncomfortable and stiff, an accurate representation of the atmosphere in the room. Zayn was sat next to me idly twiddling his thumbs; a habit, I noticed shortly after we first met, he’d taken to doing before every interview. We were the only two from the band being grilled today seeing as the story was going to be about us. Our relationship. The interviewer sat across from us, his crisp white shirt untucked and his tie loosened. He’d made it so after I had told him to relax, we liked having fun with the interviewers and although our topic of discussion was supposed to be serious, he didn’t have to dress like you would to a funeral. Or a wedding.

I nudged the back of Zayn’s hand with my own, prompting him to take it into his. Our interview about to begin, I wanted him to feel at ease. With the added benefit of the contact reliving tension building inside of me. It was only a short time later before the two of us had relaxed completely, the interview was going well. More so, in fact. The bloke asking us preconceived questions was obviously a natural.

With the rapport between us reaching its peak, the inevitable topic I had been impatiently awaiting was finally brought up. This was the most anticipating part of the interview, one I had thought about how to answer over and over and over.

“Now Liam, there’s been a lot of speculation over the where’s and how’s. I know there are a lot of people eager to hear the details. So perhaps you could clear the air. How **_did_ ** you propose?”

 

**\-- 0 --**

 

I woke up slowly to sounds of heavy breathing.

Sunlight from the window was filtering in from a gap between the curtains, illuminating the room and shining right into my face. As my eyes adjusted to the bright light I looked over at the man cradled in my arms. The source of the heavy breathing. His face was turned towards me, his features young and calm. Zayn was still fast asleep, more often than not he always was when I woke up. The sunlight streaming through the window extended across the pillow encompassing his head as well. However, from this angle his face was shaded, with the light irradiating around his hair like a halo. Apt, I thought.

I looked over at the clock on our bedside table, the screen displaying 11:00. We’d stayed up until 2am playing FIFA and watching horribly scripted horror films, so the time came as no surprise. I lay there for 10/15 minutes, maybe more, just staring at the light stubble dusting his jaw and his gorgeous cheekbones that made my knees weak; appearing sharp enough to cut glass in the early afternoon light; before Zayn started to stir.

I love how he wakes up.

He always scrunches up his nose and furrows his brow seemingly chasing sleep away. Then he opens his eyes ever so carefully before blinking a few times to get his bearings. Unhurried, he trains his hazel eyes on mine and gives me a look that pierces straight into my soul. And my heart. Usually I see molten chocolate in the silhouette of his eyes but the bright morning light is highlighting the green flecks in his iris’ and the colour can only be described as beautiful. That’s probably when the idea first started to form in my head.

A half smile tugs at his lips and he hides his face in the pillow against my gaze.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

“Morning,” I reply.

A short while later we have morning sex. It’s slow and lethargic and oh so right.

Zayn’s stubble tickles my jaws as his mouth works at the juncture of my shoulder and neck. I know when he pulls away there’ll be an angry purple mark left in his wake and I wouldn’t have it any other way. His weight is familiar on top of me, my body bracketed by his knees and forearms. Our boxer-covered groins are teasingly level, barely an inch apart, before I cup his arse and bring them together, stealing a cheeky squeeze. His groan gets swallowed by my mouth as I bring his lips to mine again in a lazy kiss. Leisurely, our tongues dance and we move our hips together in a practiced motion. Delicious friction and yet not enough. Never enough.

I roll us over and tortuously make my way down Zayn’s body, kissing, sucking, and biting at any and all exposed flesh, paying close attention to his perfect nipples; drawing moans from his lips, smothering my own against his chest. I only stop again once I’ve reached his bellybutton pausing to look into his lust-blown eyes in what I hoped was a sexy manner.

“Liam,” he gasps.

He has one hand in his hair, messing his already mussed up bedhead. In my opinion he looks absolutely stunning. I decide not to tease him, there’s always time for that later, so I take the waistband of his boxers in my teeth and pull them down, over his hard erection, to his knees before letting him take over and shuck out of them and onto the floor. Moments later we’re lip locked again, this time my body caging his. I can tell he’s getting impatient due to the added teeth in our kiss. That, and his hand palming me roughly over my too-tight boxers.

“Ugh, Zayn,” I moan as he’s located my sensitive head.

“Off,” He demands.

I edge off of his body, standing up to take my boxers off. My erection springing free from its confines and jutting out straight in the heated air. Meanwhile, Zayn has reached over into the top drawer of our bedside table, getting out a bottle of lube. Before I get the chance to crawl back into bed next to Zayn, his hand grips my hips holding me in place as he raises himself onto his knees.

“Because you beat me at FIFA,” is the explanation he gives before going down on me.

Now, I could write songs about Zayn’s mouth. Each verse dedicated to the tricks he can do with his tongue, the chorus a belted melody about how he can take my cock deeper than of my previous partners. If this blowjob was a song. It would be a ballad.

Zayn starts with a few attentive licks at the tip of my dick. Running his rough taste buds across my slit to taste the precum oozing out due to his ministrations. Then he wraps his lips around my whole cock head, stretching his mouth impressively to accommodate my girth. With a few swirls from that talented tongue of his and the constant suction from his hollowed cheeks, I’m already on edge. He peers up at me timidly, a stark contrast to the actions he is preforming, before slowly descending the rest of my cock, his stare unbroken. As each inch of my dick is lowered into the hot, wet, glorious warmth of Zayn’s mouth, I feel my abs tighten involuntarily. He’s about 4 or 5 inches down when he breaks eye contact and closes his lids. I can see him concentrating on breathing through his nose as I place my hands of the back of his head so that he knows to take his time. I look across the broad expense of his shoulders and then down the long expanse of his back, admiring the way his muscles are stretched taunt, to see he has a hand between his arse cheeks. Clearly fingering himself.

Who says men can’t multitask?

The suction he’s applying to my dick hasn’t stopped once. I notice this a second before Zayn opens his eyes and smirks around his mouthful of cock. He moves his hand from gripping my left hip to kneading my arse cheek, a little whine escaping my throat at how amazing this all feels. He’s probably using two fingers now, I think absently.

Quicker than you could blink, Zayn opens his mouth impossibly wider and swallows down the last few inches of my cock. Deepthroating. Zayn’s an expert and yet we still don’t do this as often as I would like. I can feel his throat fluttering around my length and I knew that if I looked at Zayn there would be tears pricking his eyes. I just wish I could bring my head back down from where I threw it back in a silent scream to see how stunning he must look. And as if Zayn couldn’t wreck me enough he chooses that precise moment to start humming around my cock.

My scream this time isn’t silent.

I was wrong early though; this blowjob wouldn’t be a ballad. It would be dubstep. Loud, heavy, and ecstasy. Without warning my orgasm is ripped out of me and I feel myself coating Zayn’s throat with my release. Spurt after spurt of cum that I can’t control erupting from my cock, seeming like it’ll never end.

I don’t think I want it to.

As I start to come down from my high, my legs feel like jelly and I can’t help collapsing onto the bed next to where Zayn is kneeled. Even though my senses are dulled and my body feels numb in the afterglow of orgasm, I still feel a sense of arousal when I see Zayn is working three fingers inside of him.

“You okay, baby?” he gasps, clearly still enjoying himself. I’m not surprised. Zayn’s mastery of the prostate is almost as good as his blowjob skills.

“Mmm,” I mumble, an achievement in itself. Although I can feel myself going soft, I know Zayn is still hard and I can’t help but want to help Zayn achieve the same bliss he gave me.

“C’mere,” I say reaching out to pull him on top of me. Zayn’s dexterity knows no bounds as he settles into my lap without removing his fingers. I lean up to kiss his puffy lips, slipping my tongue in his mouth, tasting myself in every crevice.

“Good?” he asks between kisses.

“Better than good, thank you,”

“No problem, ah, babe.” He’s close, I can tell in the way his back is arching and how he’s now rocking back onto his hand. It makes my cock twitch, filling with blood once again. The action doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Can’t have been that good if you’re recovered already,” he pouts.

“It’s just the effect you have on me,” I assure him, “get on your hands and knees love, I wanna rim you,”

There’s a bit of shuffling until we’re both in position and I quickly lube up my fingers to replace Zayn’s, taking over from his self-ministrations. His hole is gaping already as I slide 3 fingers in without hesitation. The rim is stretched fantastically and I can’t help but wonder if there’s still cum inside from the last time I fucked him. I tentatively drag my tongue across his perineum and around his hole. The taste of berries exploding across my taste buds from the flavoured lube but with a hint of something else, something…Zayn. I continue swirling my tongue around his abused rim, lapping over and over at the sensitive skin like a lollipop before forcing my tongue inside his arse alongside my fingers. Zayn drops his head to the mattress, all upper body strength and coordination gone out the window.

By this point I’m fully hard again, my foreskin retracting over the swollen head of my cock. With the hand I’m not using to pleasure Zayn, I blindly reach out for the discarded bottle of flavoured lube by my side. I manage to pop the cap and pour a generous amount over my length, stroking myself slowly to make sure there is enough so as not to hurt Zayn. I discard the lube once again and remove my fingers and tongue from Zayn’s arsehole. He whimpers at the loss, thrusting his hips backwards in a feeble attempt to keep any pressure on his prostate.

“Relax, babe, I’ve got you,” I tell him comfortingly.

I manhandle him so that he’s lying on his back and I manoeuvre a pillow under his hips so that they’re tilted at the right angle. I rest the head of my cock against his rim, applying a little pressure but not enough to push pass the muscle yet. In that moment, with his hair in disarray, his eyes wide with arousal, a flush painting his face and chest, and his legs tantalisingly open, I knew I could never love somebody as much as I loved this man.

“Get. The. Fuck. In. Me,” Zayn grits, snapping me out of my daydream.

“What’s the rush babe? You look so good like this,” I reply, my mouth pulled into a half-smirk.

“Need your cock now, please, I don’t care if I have to beg, please just fuck me,”

“Keep up with that dirty talk and I’ll make it so you won’t be able to walk for a week,”

“Promises, promises,”

My smirk becomes a full-blown grin at the cheeky comment. With all the strength and determination I can muster, I thrust into him until I’m balls deep. Zayn moans pornographically underneath me as I feel his walls clench reflexively against the intrusion.

“That’s it babe, so tight for me, so hot around my cock,” I say.

“Fuck, I’ll never get used to that. You’re just too fucking big,” he gasps. It takes a few seconds for him to adjust, the wait is excruciating until finally his hips begin rocking ever so slightly downwards.

“C’mon, I haven’t cum yet. Do I have to do everything around here?”

I chuckle at his words, even with a cock stuffed in the bloke’s arse he can still manage to berate me.

“I dunno, why do I have such a whiny boyfriend?”

“Because I can blow you like a pro and you have a kink for watching me limp,”

“True,” I say, my words followed by a well-timed thrust to his prostate. The first couple of times we did this it took me a while to find his sweet spot. But by now I’m a dead shot. Zayn is writhing underneath me as I assault that same bundle of nerves over and over with the blunt head of my cock. Each time his velvety walls tighten like a vice around me until the electricity dies and I pull out for another thrust.

This is the best kind of sex. Lazy. Slow. Powerful.

Zayn cums untouched around me.

His walls clench and spasm around my dick applying glorious pressure to the entirety of my shaft. His release coats his chest and abdomen in random stripes from naval to chin, one particular spurt going so far as to reach his bottom lip. His mouth is open in a slight “o”, no sound being emitted but the pleasure he’s feeling clearly evident on his face.

“That’s it babe, I’ve got you,” I tell him soothingly, letting him ride through the aftershocks rocking his system. I had cum as well, simultaneously in fact; I had learned early on that it drove Zayn crazy. He’s still a little out of it, possibly might have passed out for a second – it wouldn’t be the first time-, so I gently slip out of him and lean down to kiss him, licking his own release from his lower lip.

“Not fair,” he moans, “You got to cum twice,”

“Do you think we’re done already?” I ask quizzically. His eyes blink open and he smiles back lazily, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm.

 

*********

 

It’s well past 7pm before we leave the bedroom. Hunger finally winning out.

Zayn is out on our balcony smoking his new e-cigarette. He doesn’t like smoking it inside. I think he just enjoys the periodic moments of fresh air. I’m in the kitchen making us some tea. Milk, one sugar, just the way we like it. I carry them to where Zayn is leant against the balcony rail and hand one to him whilst slipping one arm around his waist to steal his body heat; we’re both shirtless and it’s getting colder by the minute. However, the sunset on the horizon makes it worth the chill. And maybe the guy in my arms as well.

“How long have we been together, Liam?” Zayn asks suddenly.

“3 years I think, there or thereabouts. Why?”

“No reason. How long has Louis been with Eleanor for?”

“I want to say 7 years, but I’m not sure; it could be more,”

“And they’ve been married for just over a year?”

“It’ll be a year in May,” I recall to him.

The conversation seems to die there. A mild wind is blowing so I cuddle myself closer to Zayn’s back, mindful not to spill my tea over him. Vapour curls out from Zayn’s mouth as he takes a slow drag, the light from his e-cigarette illuminating his features. I perch my chin over his shoulder and take a drag myself, letting the chemicals dull my senses.

“Li, do you even think we’ll get married?” He asks, both of us still watching the sunset.

“I’m not sure,” I reply, “Do you want to?”

“Do you?” he asks back turning to face me.

“Yeah?” It’s not an answer but it’s not a question either. But somehow, it’s something I know he’ll understand.

“Yeah,” he nods in agreement, maintaining eye contact until our lips touch.

**\-- 0 --**

“…perhaps you could clear the air. How **_did_ ** you propose?”

“Most people would say it wasn’t very romantic. We weren’t at a fancy restaurant or on the beach or anywhere clichéd like that. We were at home. I didn’t get down on one knee. It was still perfect,”

Zayn looks over at me, a half smile gracing his lips, and he knows.

I didn’t lie. But I hadn’t really answered the question either. We got engaged the only way we ever would have. Simply and comfortably. In each other’s arms, tea in our bellies and nicotine in our bloodstreams. The interviewer wanted details, but what I had said was all I was willing to give.

The whole truth will only ever be ours after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!  
> If I get a good enough response I might do more or write a proper series/chaptered fic.


End file.
